Murray McDonald - Critical Error

“Oh my God.” The penny dropped. “They picked us because we were ten minutes away. That would give them time to deal with you. But we arrived early and if we had been even ten seconds later, those two guys posing as Capitol Police would have got to you first!”

“Yep, whoever sent you there had time to kill me and they could still say they had responded to the threat.”

“But that means we’re talking about people with influence at the very top of government.”

“Exactly,” emphasized Sam.

“Holy shit, we’re screwed.” Clark hit the nail on the head as each of them digested just what they were up against.

Rebecca Cohen stepped off the British Airways flight 115 from London with a new identity, Marie-Helene Abouaf, a French citizen of Tunisian descent. Mossad had some of the best forgers in the world and creating passports at short notice for its agents had never been an issue. At least not until the debacle in Dubai where twenty six Mossad agents had been linked to the assassination of Mahmoud al-Mabhouh, all holding fake or fraudulently obtained passports. Passport officers the world over were just a little more vigilant following the incident.

It was with this in mind that Rebecca approached the immigration officer at JFK and placed her most entrancing smile upon him. As Rebecca herself would say, the male really was the weaker of the sexes. Put a beautiful woman in front of a man and he became a blubbering wreck. Pathetic. She passed through without incident and hailed a cab as she exited the terminal building into a blustery September evening. Her mission was simple. Ben had been very succinct. Find the bomb before it goes off!

As soon as she was clear of the terminal and comfortable she had not picked up a tail, she called Ben.

“I’ve landed.”

“About time! All hell has broken loose at a hotel in Newark.”

“The terrorists?”

“Not sure, multiple shootings but almost as soon as it happened, the press went quiet and intelligence agencies went ballistic.”

“Our contacts?”

“Can’t get in, whoever is controlling it is at a very senior level.”

“Any assets I can use?”

“No, you are, as our American friends would say, off the grid. Nobody knows you are there. You have a free hand.”

“Good, what’s the hotel’s address?”

Rebecca passed the Howard Johnson address to the cabbie and hung up on Ben. She opened her make-up bag and with a particular twist removed the bottom of the bag to reveal a lead lined bottom. Not large enough to be noticed during the scans but large enough for a few IDs and a few badges that she always found came in useful. Particularly when she needed information.

As the cab drew near the hotel, Rebecca would not have imagined a multiple shooting had taken place there within the last hour. In America, even a simple shooting would elicit a significant response, crime scene tape, strobing emergency lights, scores of law enforcement officers and numerous vans. The Howard Johnson at Newark, scene of a multiple shooting, failed to have even one police car in attendance.

Rebecca exited the cab and made directly for the entrance lobby. For all the lack of activity outside, the lobby made up for it. Grey suits were everywhere. Obviously, whatever happened here was way beyond uniform policing.

“Excuse me, Miss?” A man approached Rebecca. His jacket was open and his holstered pistol could easily be seen as he moved towards her. “I’m sorry but the hotel is full.” He moved to take her arm and divert her back the way she came.

Rebecca very subtly side-stepped his hand and removed the badge she had taken from her make-up bag in the cab and showed it to the man.

“Special Agent Todd, NCT,” informed Rebecca forcefully.

The man stopped and looked at the badge quizzically. “Sorry, NCT?”

“Nuclear Counter Terrorism, part of the NNSA!”

“Sorry, NNSA?”

“National Nuclear Security Administration, part of DoE.”

“DOD?”

“Delta Oscar Echo, Department of Energy and you?”

“Homeland Security,” he paused. Rebecca was playing him perfectly. Act confidently like you have every reason to be there and 99 times out of 100, no one will second guess you. “How exactly can I help you?” he asked.

“Just show me everything you’ve got and that will be fine,” replied Rebecca, looking around the room for whoever was in charge.

“Just wait here,” he said, waving for her to remain where she was as he walked across to the main desk and whispered in another grey suit’s ear, a far older and obviously more senior agent.

Rebecca had no intention of waiting and as the two men turned from their whispering, Rebecca was at their shoulders.

“Rebecca Todd,” she offered her hand to the senior agent. Confidence exuding from every pore of her body.

“Director Mark Carter,” he offered automatically, shaking Rebecca’s hand. “I’m sorry, I believe you’re with, is it DoE?” he looked at his colleague for confirmation and received a nod.

“Yes, Nuclear Counter Terrorism. I believe there has been an incident.”

“There has been a small incident, totally unrelated to either terrorism or nuclear material. So if you don’t mind, Miss Todd, this is a crime scene and we are very busy,” he said, nodding at his younger colleague as an instruction to remove Rebecca.

Rebecca again very subtly side-stepped the agent’s attempt to take her arm.

“It’s not Miss, it’s Special Agent and I apologize, I was looking for the agent in charge,” Rebecca again looked around the room. “Perhaps your superior?” she mused, taunting the Director.

“I can assure you, Special Agent Todd,” he spat, “I am the senior agent in charge and you will not find anyone more senior other than in Washington.”

“Well I would have thought that you being so senior, you might be aware that we have a severe threat level of a nuclear device in transit or already in the US. As such, I’ll decide whether this incident is worthy of my interest.”

Rather than go toe to toe with, he had to admit, a very attractive but arrogant little bitch, he turned and taking his cell phone from his pocket, he hit the speed dial for Henry Preston, DNI, his boss’ boss.

After a very muted and it appeared one way conversation, he turned back towards Rebecca.

“It appears you’re correct. There has been a warning. However, I can assure you this incident is not linked.”

“You have the shooters in custody?”

“No.”

“You have a positive ID of the shooters?”

“No.”

“You have confirmed who the victims are?”

“No.”

“So I’m sorry Director Carter, exactly how can you be so confident that this incident is not related to my investigation?” inquired Rebecca.

“We have the victims identified as South African nationals. The belief is this is to do with diamonds or drugs. So, if you don’t mind we’re very busy.”

Rebecca smiled. This was actually proving to be fun. “South Africa you say? Well I’m afraid that changes everything.” She drew her phone from her pocket and began to dial a number.

“Sorry, what are you doing?” asked Director Carter.

“Calling in the full team,” replied Rebecca nonchalantly. “Oh and NEST, you know, the Nuclear Emergency Support Team who I’m sure will want an exclusion zone in place asap.”

“Just wait a minute,” he said trying to grab her phone. “I said South African!”

Rebecca moved her hand away firmly. “I know what you said. South Africa had a nuclear Weapons programme in the 80s and 90s.” Rebecca did not add that they only had six weapons and they had been dismantled in 1989. “And I’ll need you all out of here. This area is now designated hot, until NEST deem it otherwise.”